


Querencia

by dollmeatpie



Series: Microcosm [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Loss of Virginity, M/M, POV Tony Stark, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sexual Inexperience, Virgin Peter Parker, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-12-26 13:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollmeatpie/pseuds/dollmeatpie
Summary: Tony and Peter adjust through the aftermath of the Snap by moving into nature and each other.





	1. Spider-Man

Aunt May is gone, Ned and MJ.

The door has been repaired but still feels broken.

Reporters swarm outside each morning with their questions and Tony watches Peter’s health regress.

He sells the house halfway into autumn.

The following week, he moves them near the woods.

*

It’s cold. Peter likes it. He tells Tony as much, and Tony breaks from his polish and armor to greet him.

“Different, right? The trees.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, leaning against Tony’s table. He folds his arms. His shirt is plaid and unbuttoned over his sweats.

“Pete.”

“I’m okay,” he says as Tony stands before him. “Really, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah? Why the dewy brown eyes?”

Peter laughs. “You’re making that up.”

“Am I?”

He touches Peter’s waist. A sound, low and harsh, bubbles just behind his teeth as his fingers slide beneath the flaps of the shirt.

“I’ve been in here too long. I know. I’m sorry,” Tony says.

Peter shakes his head and lowers his eyes.

“That’s why you came to me like that? Showing your little body, getting my attention?”

Roses fill Peter’s cheeks. He fights a smile.

“Yeah. Just needed me to talk to you a bit, I know, baby.”

*

There’s no food delivery way out here. Neither are poor at cooking but then neither ever feel up to it. “Just throw some paprika on something,” Tony will say. So when Tony produces a pretty meal that evening for their dinner, Peter sits up straight with palpable interest.

*

“My little spiderpuss, rinsing the dishes.”

A laugh springs out of Peter. Tony steps to his side and ropes his arm around Peter’s middle, making it tight; locking Peter in.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. For dinner.”

“You liked it?”

“Yeah, I—I did. Mr.— _Ah_ ….”

“And this?” Tony kisses behind his ear. When Peter leans into him, pressing his hip in Tony’s crotch, Tony’s other hand lifts his shirt. “And what’s this? _No panties_? You naughty little thing, I _thought_ these sweats were riding a bit too low.”

Peter’s properly pink when Tony hooks his thumb in the waistband, draws it away from his back to peer inside.

*

It’s late when they brush the garlic-and-ginger taste from their teeth, late when they slide into sheets that still smell new. Peter falls asleep against Tony in his hat. Tony lies restless through the night.

*

“Mr. Stark…?”

Peter shifts behind Tony, who sits at the edge of the bed, elbows to knees.

“Go back to sleep,” Tony urges. But Peter comes, pressing to Tony’s back, his mouth near his ear.

“What’s wrong?”

Tony tugs at his hair. “Ah, kid….”

*

Peter sits on the floor between his feet.

*

“I’m losing my shit,” Tony says in the kitchen as Peter pours him water. His eyes are glazed and he drinks and shares his second glass with Peter.

*

Tony settles at sunrise in an armchair. Peter, asleep on the floor, is hugging one of Tony’s legs, his hat on a tilt, mouth soft and ajar.

*

Tony watches cartoons as his panic passes. When Peter begins to stir, Tony’s heart clamps with affection.

“Hey, gummy bear,” he croons. “Sleep okay?”

“No.”

Tony snorts. He pats his thighs. “C’mere.”

*

Perhaps it’s due to their being drunk with fatigue, but Peter climbs up Tony’s body and settles himself in a straddling seat.

“Are you comfortable?” Tony asks, caution seeped in his voice. Because he still needs to _know_ , even as he’s recently started to touch Peter differently.

Peter, however, never minds being touched; explored. “It’s always okay, Mr. Stark. What happened last night?”

“I’d rather talk about you, kid. How cute you were down there holding onto my leg.”

But Peter tugs his shirt. “What happened last night?”

*

He doesn’t like to discuss it but he lays it out for Peter. “And now you know all about my PTSD. Breakfast?”

*

“But what—I mean, not to be a bother about it, Mr. Stark, but what made it...surface? I thought we had a good night.”

“We did, kid. Sometimes it just happens. Steals my sleep.”

“How can I help?”

Tony takes a bite from Peter’s banana. “Keep being my good boy,” he says through the mouthful.

*

There’s a path near their home and a pond to enjoy nearby. They walk without many words, delighting in the world and each other. Peter slips his hand in Tony’s pants pocket.

*

“I want you,” Tony says. Peter’s situated on a low stone wall and Tony stands in the gap between his legs. The breeze is sharp. Sunlight flickers along Peter’s glasses.

“I’m not scared.”

“It’ll change you.”

“What?” Peter asks. 

“Fucking me.”

*

Tony thinks about it all day and he knows Peter thinks about it, too, but he doesn’t revisit it. They have this sleepy house and all the time they wish to take to taste one another.

*

“Mr. Stark?”

Peter leans in the lab doorway. It’s modest against what he’s used to, but nonetheless glitters with science and tools. Tony looks up at him, sees the glasses; the hat.

“What if we’re too far?” Peter asks.

“From what?”

“Everything. What if they...what if the world needs us?”

Tony sets down his devices. He beckons Peter toward him, pushing out from the table so his chair rolls.

“I’m not keeping you challenged enough in here, is that what this is?” Tony asks.

“I did your assignments, Mr. Stark.”

“And I’ll grade them later but what’s _this_ about?”

Peter wrings his hands. “I just….”

“Yeah?”

“I miss being Spider-Man.”

*

Tony doesn’t allow this to make an episode out of him. “You’re still Spider-Man, Pete,” he says, “but they have to wait.”

*

It bothers him, though, and when he looks at Peter, that fear comes back that one of these days—these moments—he’ll find Peter gone.

*

Peter is sweet and cooks dinner. It rivals the bowl of steak, potatoes, tomatoes, and green beans he’d built, but Tony is pleased—proud, even—that Peter’s outshined him.

“You did beautifully,” Tony says. “Just beautifully. Thanks, Pete.”

Peter leans to kiss him near the corner of his mouth and while it doesn’t quite count, it’s still _real_ , and Tony grabs it, lets it settle in his heart; his groin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look what series has returned on the same day I was plotting to crush souls with April Fools, this-is-cancelled nonsense.


	2. Daddy

“Karen,” Peter says. “Can you show me Mr. Stark’s chart?”

“The Daddy Directory Protocol prohibits reverse observations of Mr. Stark’s personal files.”

“Damnit.”

“What’s wrong, Peter?”

“I just thought I was the Daddy of the relationship.”

*

Tony hears all this from the nearby bathroom and shakes with silent laughter, taking a piss.

*

“Peter Benjamin Parker.”

“Anthony Edward Stark,” Peter counters after Tony enters the gym.

“You watch that dirty mouth of yours, kid.”

But Tony likes it and enjoys when Peter’s sassy like this. He steps over the barbell Peter just finished using and has a seat on the bench opposite him.

“Curious thing happened today,” he begins.

“Yeah?”

“FRIDAY informed me of a block on an attempted _hack_ on my personal files. Know anything about that?”

Peter appears to deflate. “Mr. Stark, I—”

“No, no. Yes? Or no?”

“It was me. But I _promise_ I wasn’t hacking you, Mr. Stark, I would _never_ do that.”

“Says the same pretty face who hacked a multimillion dollar suit. Twice.”

Peter sighs, standing. “I was just—I wasn’t _hacking_ , I didn’t think you would have it under the Daddy Lock.”

“The Daddy Lock.”

“You know!”

“Yeah. I see. Well, kid, listen. It’s not your job to look at my chart or worry about my health or anything else you’ve got brainstormed up in that genius little head.”

“Oh? Well whose is it?”

“Not done.”

Tony holds up his phone. It projects from its transparent screen a recording of a man on his belly on a bed. Another man is atop him, his arm around his neck, posed like a frog, crashing his body into the other’s.

*

Peter isn’t pink. He’s raspberry.

“Wanna explain why Karen’s streams are full of gay porn?” Tony asks. “Because I still get them, you know? Everything you _see_ comes to me.”

“But I thought...the Baby Monitor Protocol….”

“Is still very much intact.”

“In the _suit_. Not the glasses, that’s...that’s unfair!”

“Same software, Pete. But. I understand your point, and we can discuss the possibility of its removal another time.”

Peter throws up his arms with a groan. He climbs the workout equipment built to buff backs and arms and perches himself atop it like a bird.

“Down here. Now.”

“But Mr. Stark….”

And he sounds embarrassed. And he’s adorable. And Tony wants to lick the cum from his balls. When Peter finally scales back down to the floor, he drops to a seat on his bench and shakes his head.

*

“You’re a virgin, right? I mean it’s apparent, but….”

Peter glowers at him.

“Never kissed a girl? Not even once?”

“I’ve _kissed_ girls, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh? What are their names?”

Peter’s head hangs. “On the cheek.”

“Wow, on the _cheek_. Impressive stuff. Ever sucked a dick?”

“God, no!”

“Have you _seen_ a dick?”

“Mr. Stark!”

“Alright. Alright.” Tony can’t help but laugh. “Listen kid.” And he sets the phone down on the bench beside him so the movie continues to dance in the air. “This? This isn’t how it always is, I mean look at him. His asshole’s splitting in half, I guarantee it.”

Peter covers his face with his shirt.

*

They’re walking the path again and it’s late. Tony nurses a Scotch. The sun disappears behind the trees, leaving the autumn sky scorched red.

*

“I was just... _studying_ ,” Peter says. He doesn’t look at Tony, but Tony’s sure Peter knows that he’s looking at him. “I wanted to impress you.”

“With your mad skillz?”

Peter snorts. “Shut up.”

*

Tony follows Peter into bed. He climbs over his back and loops his arm around Peter’s bare middle.

“Where’re you going so fast, little thing?”

Peter laughs. He allows Tony to shift them so they’re kneeling, locked together atop the crumpled sheets. “I wasn’t going any faster than usual.”

“Yeah you were. Running from me, hiding what I want.”

Tony sticks a kiss to Peter’s ear; his jaw. Peter’s breath catches in his throat.

*

“Do you wanna see it?” Peter asks, voice already wrecked by their play.

“Yeah, I do.”

*

Peter’s biting his lip when Tony peers over his shoulder. He draws his boxers away from his body.

“Look at that pretty cock.”

“Thank you,” Peter says. His back is hot against Tony and his ass is in Tony’s lap, pressing the more experienced erection. “I can take it out….”

“Just to see it a little better.”

And he does it, reaches one hand in, heaves his dick from the shadows, tan and pink with a single pearl of pre-cum.

Tony makes a sound he hasn’t heard from himself in months. His hands glide up Peter’s arms and twitch to choke his lovely neck. He settles instead on squeezing Peter’s shoulders.

*

Tony can’t sleep. He’s hot and his balls are heavy and he’s leaked so much in his boxers that he worries there’s a puddle in the bed.

When he sits at the edge again, it’s for a different reason. He squeezes himself. Pre-cum dribbles out onto his fist.

*

They still haven’t kissed.

Tony’s thinking about it as they fry breakfast bacon, grease spitting out from the pan to Peter’s abs.

*

“Stark.”

Peter says it with such a masculine _weight_ that Tony looks up from his food without reprimanding it.

“Why do you have your files uploaded onto Karen if you never planned to share them with me?”

“Show me your hard dick once and you’re a big boy now?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, in that case”—he tosses his bacon dramatically—“I was just waiting for the right time.”

“When’s that?”

“The day you’re able to handle it.”

*

Peter vacillates between shy and inexperienced and the more extreme polarity: sexual deviant. He’s saying things to Tony that he hadn’t dared before, attempting to ride the bike without his training wheels.

Tony doesn’t interrupt his experiments. It’s sexy, watching this kid as he heals and grows into himself, as he does the work to meet Tony where he’s needed.

On the eve of Thanksgiving, he pours Peter a glass of champagne.

“You’re my favorite, Peter,” Tony says.


	3. Quartz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very happy birthday to RDJ, whom Starker would be incomplete without. <3

They skip Thanksgiving and settle into December since the losses were too great, polluting the feasting day on both ends. Tony watches Peter solve an equation at the board and casts his eyes across his black, sagging sweats.

He knows.

Peter’s avoiding their first kiss.

*

“What’s on your mind?” Tony later asks.

Peter glances away. He sets down his weights and dashes his arm past his brow.

“Because I can hear them: the gears ticking.”

“It’s just the holidays. And the—you know, everything. And….”

“Yes?”

Peter blows out a breath. His eyes dart toward the nearest exit.

*

“I…. It’s something stupid,” Peter confesses. “I mean, it’s not…. I just don’t want you to look at me, like... _weird_.”

“Right, because something exists _weirder_ than finding you in my bed, jerking off in the mask?”

But Tony’s attempt at humor doesn’t take. Peter rubs the back of his neck and shifts. Tony adopts a far more serious tone.

“Hey. Kid. You’re 17. I’ve been there, done it, taught a class about it.” He pauses. “What happened?”

*

Peter shoves his hands in the sweats. Tony imagines him seeking his flaccid cock to calm his nerves and feels a sudden heat claw up his chest.

“I ordered something. To...use. Inside.”

“Inside.”

Peter huffs.

“What, like in the house?”

Because Tony’s being slow and hadn’t imagined Peter’s behavior is over a _toy_. But he knows, just as he’d realized the thwart of the kiss, and his dick inflates at once, tenting his shorts.

*

“Are you wearing it?” Tony asks, voice low as not to frighten the boy into throwing his other foot out the door.

“It’s…. Yes.”

Peter is the brightest Tony’s seen.

*

_Inside._

Tony clears his mind and his throat.

“Well.”

“I took the glasses off. When I got the package, I mean, when I opened it. I didn’t want…. And then I wanted to surprise you, show— Ugh. Mr. Stark. I don’t wanna talk about—”

“Then show me.”

Peter shrinks back. His eyes bulge with absolute dread.

*

Tony sits alone after letting him go, the kid so unmistakably horrified by this sequence of events. He’ll be back. He still needs Tony close and often seeks his sheltering presence after not even 30 minutes of being alone.

So he waits. He sweats and mops at his nose with his shirt, wondering what he’ll do if Peter stops wanting him.

*

He finds him out back on their deck, leaned on the railing. His hood is pulled over his head and Tony stops.

Peter’s a kid—17 or not. He’s young and unique and kind and of course he’s scared, having gone through so much and equal parts _not enough_. Will he run now? Ask to be taken back home to a more empty life? A life where some middle-aged man isn’t plotting to fuck him?

And that’s why Tony _won’t_ run, escape as Peter has. One of them is the adult and they must display it.

“Peter.”

He stands beside his boy. A colorful stretch of woodland freckles the distance.

“I’m sorry I ran, it’s….”

“No, I know. I get it.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t realize before. The way I sit and the…. Just how I’ve been.”

Tony had noticed. He just didn’t think it was _this._

“Anyway, I do. Want to show you.” He flicks his eyes to Tony. “Mr. Stark.”

*

Tony’s behind Peter, his rhythm slow as he massages his shoulders.

“Right here,” Tony murmurs in his hair. 

_“Outside?”_

“Yes.” He presses his bulge to Peter’s ass. “Just us. No one has to know what I’ll _do to you_ yet.”

Peter sips up some air when Tony’s arms jail him in. His large hands curl around the railing.

“Pull your pants down,” Tony says. “No, no. Just the back. Good, Peter. Like that.”

“Someone will _see_.”

“The deer? The raccoons?”

This reels a laugh out of Peter.

“Arch it up.”

Peter also grips the railing, curving his lower back—with some hesitation. Nonetheless, he’s done what he’s been told and Tony makes a sound in his chest that says he’s pleased.

*

“What is it made of?”

“Quartz,” Peter rasps. Tony sees his knuckles draining of color.

“Reach down between us. Spread your ass.”

“Mr. Stark….”

“ _Open_ it.”

*

Tony shoves away and it looks like this: a flexible boy bent over the rail, legs stretched apart, arms arranged at his sides into triangles. His pants are further down. He trembles at the wrists as he grips both his cheeks.

Tony crouches, leveling eyes with ass. A pink base protrudes from Peter’s hole.

_“Look at you.”_

Peter’s legs quake.

“And what’s this?” Tony asks when his vision adjusts on the pre-cum leaking all over the decking. “Pretty little nuts, a hose for a dick. We’re gonna have _fun_ , aren’t we?”

“Oh my God….”

“Get back in the house.”

Tony stands as Peter sweeps past him, turning in time to see him jerk up his pants.

*

“I’m gonna cum on myself,” he hears Peter say in the sheets. Tony’s dick jumps at the feverish whisper. He stands in front of Peter at the bed’s edge nearest the window and he presses a heavy hand to Peter’s back.

“Take a breath,” he says.

“I— _feel it_.”

Tony waits. He watches Peter’s fist twist in the comforter.

Peter sighs.

Tony asks, “Did you cum?”

“Not yet….”

Tony nods to the sweats, though Peter isn’t looking, his face in the bed. “Take your pants off. All the way.”

He shakily does it.

“Look at me.”

Tony bows over, sliding his hands to the sheets around Peter. Peter lifts on his forearms so he can see.

“Are you ready? Do you _want_ this?”

_“Yes.”_

*

Peter bends a leg as his mouth slides with Tony’s, forcing his tiny ass to tilt up. Tony licks his tongue and sucks at his lips as he pulls away for only a moment, long enough to admire those cheeks.

He reaches. Both his hands fit over the curves and one slides to the middle, stroking the quartz and along Peter’s crack.

“ _God_ , you’re stunning.”

_“Ah—!_ ” 

“Let’s see how big this thing is you’ve shoved up your hole.”

“I didn’t shove— _ah_ , it’s coming—Mr.—God, _please_ , I can’t—hold it.”

Tony releases the base of the pink quartz plug. He holds himself up with one hand on the bed and the other find’s Peter’s back.

“Did you?”

Peter shakes his head.

”Powerful stuff you’ve got there, on the edge like that.”

*

Tony works the crystal away from Peter’s pliant body, plays with his hole, pushes and turns the plug. Peter grips Tony’s thighs as his head hangs over the bed. His ass dances up. There’s desperate, whining sounds.

“That feels good, doesn’t it? I know, that’s it; that’s it. Yes. Let me have it, there we go.”

And his ass spits it out, winking—a beautiful gape.

Tony drops the plug on the bed. He folds over Peter, pries his cheeks apart and stretches his tongue in the hidden warmth of his ass.

“Oh, _shit_.” Peter’s fingers are digging in. “Mr. Stark. _Sss_ — _Mr. Stark._ ”

*

Peter’s face is smashed in Tony’s dick. The vibrations of his moans are lost in Tony’s workout shorts, scented with sweat and hours-dried pre-cum. Tony beats back the impulse to pull out and shove inside Peter’s throat. He wants to fuck his face so bad, he’s spinning.

And his ass—sticky and soft—is as sweet as Tony imagined. He bites and sucks his butt and lower back.

 _“I’m doing it,”_ Peter grits between his teeth. Tony flips him to see the cum jetting out.


	4. Creamy

Peter’s blowing soft, whimpering breaths. When his tongue darts out on his lips, it sweeps through semen. Tony watches him taste himself, imagines his mouth filled with musk, all potent and new. He kneels at the edge of the bed where Peter’s half-hanging.

“It’s on your face. _God_ , you came like that and it got on your face, Peter. And it’s still dripping out. Look….”

Peter cranes his neck. He sees his flinching cock; the bridge of cum between his dickhole and belly. A wrecked moan flutters from his throat as he falls back down, jerking when Tony takes hold of him.

 _“It’s sensitive.”_ Peter gnashes his teeth. He fumbles for Tony’s wrist, and he’s strong enough to stop him if he wants but he can’t do it, he’s so wild, inadvertently fucking Tony’s hand.

Peter kisses Tony with his upside down lips, presses his mouth against Tony’s, sharing the _taste_ in there. Tony licks him silent, swallows his pretty little sounds while his hand, languid below, milks Peter empty.

*

“Will we—are we gonna do it now?”

Peter’s up on his knees and he’s semi-erect. Tony tugs off his shirt. He rolls his neck, tossing the fabric aside.

“Go in the kitchen. Get the olive oil,” Tony says. His voice is _scratched_ ; his hands smell of dick. When he watches Peter shuffle off to retrieve the natural lube, Tony’s belly swirls with wicked arousal.

The _depravity_ of this—of sending the boy to fetch from the kitchen cabinets a thing that will help Tony into his ass. And Peter, glad to go, likely cups his tender cock all the way to the bottle. He returns to Tony sticky, lips apart. Tony sits at the end of the bed, bare.

*

“I didn’t think— _fuck_ , I wasn’t expecting this so soon, Pete.”

Peter’s spread over his lap. Tony grabs his throat, pries him up to be kissed.

“And you _waited_. You made _me_ wait. Didn’t even _kiss_ me, wanted all this to happen at once, _didn’t you_?”

_“Yes.”_

He slides his soaking fingers through Peter’s crack. With the other hand still at Peter’s neck, just under his jaw, he lowers him down again so his back isn’t curved.

“I’m gonna fuck you right through this bed. But only when it’s right, only when you can fit me,” Tony says. His thumb dips easily in. Peter clenches. “Can’t believe you opened this hole for me. Made it soft for me, so I can fuck you in it.”

_“Yes.”_

“Fuck. _Pete_. It’s too tight still.”

Peter whines. “Don’t say that, please.”

“It’s okay,” Tony intones. “It’s okay; it’s still new. But we’re gonna open it, aren’t we? Get it good and stretched for me? Yeah….”

Peter gives a furious nod. He cranes his neck where it hangs over the side of Tony’s leg. Tony finds the need in his shimmering eyes.

*

And the tears….

The sight of Peter wanting to cry for the pleasure Tony can give him is the type of twisted shit Tony adores. It’s the _knowing_ —the awareness that he’s what Peter craves and that Peter, too, is swallowed whole by desire. Tony’s middle and ring fingers dunk in Peter’s body, _feeling_ him—getting to know him like this. At the underside of Peter, Tony’s tip bumps his abs and marks his skin with fresh, wet little spots.

“Tell me if it needs to stop,” Tony says, though his voice has a dark quality to it. Peter’s all but throwing his cheeks against Tony’s hand as his fingers rapidly pump into his hole.

*

“But when?” Peter asks, now on his knees on their bedroom carpet. “Why not now, why not—why can’t we just _try_?”

*

He’s greedy.

Tony had anticipated this but it makes it hard to tell Peter, “No. Not until you’re stretched out enough.” He _wants_ to cover Peter and expand him with his cock but to hurt him like that? His very first time?

*

Peter mopes around with a dismal attitude for two weeks. “Are you wearing it?” Tony often asks. Peter mumbles that he is in passing.

*

“Let’s go in town,” Tony says on a Wednesday morning. Peter rubs his neck like he’s unsure. Minutes later, however, he emerges from the bedroom wearing jeans and an AF1 jacket.

*

Tony’s attention continues to flicker to Peter. They drive without the radio on. Peter’s red jacket is a beautiful distraction from the road and scenic trees they zip between.

“You look good,” Tony says, breaking the silence.

Peter sighs. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

Tony licks his teeth. His fist grips the wheel.

*

They eat lobster rolls for lunch and visit an independent comic book store. Peter’s smiling here, his mouth still creamy, eyes blown wide behind his glasses.

“See anything you like, just holler,” the cashier says. She smiles, knowingly, at Tony, despite his disguise of shades and a cap.

*

“I miss it,” Peter says in a private voice. Tony stands behind him and to the side, watching Peter thumb through periodicals. “Don’t you?” he then asks. “Miss it?”

It’s Tony’s turn to sigh. He hates this subject.

*

They get ice cream, even though it’s cold out. Peter likes a cake batter flavor that breaks Tony’s heart and Tony opts for vanilla drizzled with caramel. They walk around a nearby reservoir with their cups and pass people jogging in shorts with their dogs.

*

“I need to make one more stop before we pick up dinner,” Tony says when they’re back on the road.

“You ordered dinner?”

“I thought it’d be nice. All the cooking we’ve been doing, could use a break, right?”

Peter hums. He gazes out the window, seeming softer now, a bit more approachable.

*

Peter’s eyes bulge at the storefront sign. Tony kills the engine and opens his door.

“Pete.”

“Yeah?” He drags his gaze toward Tony, who’s now standing outside the car.

“You coming in?”

“Yeah—yeah, sorry, I’m just...yeah.”

*

The bell jingles. They’re faced with a table of cocks. Two women greet them from the center counter space and Peter gives a brisk little wave.

“Ever been in one of these?” Tony asks.

“Once. During a trip to Times Square.”

“We need lube. Good lube. Silicone-based, so it sticks.”

Two minutes later, after turning around for a second, Tony hears behind him a high-pitched whisper saying, “We’re looking for anal lube. It has to be sticky, please.”

Tony rubs his brow under the cap.

*

“And what if she’d asked for your ID, hm?” Tony scolds in the car.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead, sir.”

*

Once home, they spread out their dinner. The house is fragrant with seafood and a single slab of steak, which they share between king crab and shrimp. Peter is slick with butter, humming while he eats, hat crooked on his head and Tony _wants_ him.

*

“Thank you for today,” Peter says when Tony’s brushing his teeth. He towels his hair, still soaked from washing it in the shower. When he leaves, Tony watches as he shrinks in the mirror, disappearing in their unmade bed.

The bottles of lube sit on Tony’s nightstand, still in the bag with the receipt. Tony looks at it, then at Peter, who’s on his side, curled into himself. Tony swallows as he turns out the lights and gets in bed, exhaling raggedly.

*

“Pete….”

It’s been an hour, maybe two, and he knows Peter isn’t sleeping. Because _Tony_ isn’t sleeping. He slides across the bed until his breath is on Peter’s nape, which smells of wild strawberry shampoo.

“C’mon, Pete. Let me back in.”

Peter goes tense in the sheets. He’s listening, at least, though Tony would like him to talk.

“Tell me why you’re angry. You’ve been... _pissed_ at me for weeks.”

Peter’s voice shoots out pained. “I was ready then. I wanted to do it and I did everything to show you and you didn’t want me.”

“I didn’t _want_ you? Pete. You can’t think that.”

“You haven’t touched me since then. You haven’t even kissed me, or anything. After I—I humiliated myself, with the _plug_.”

“Peter.”

Tony, with a sigh, shifts to a seat as he dials up the lights.

*

Peter slides on his glasses. Tony’s heart crumbles in his ribs.

“Why do you think I bought the lube?” he asks.

“It’s awkward now. I feel awkward about it, about coming to you like that, how I did.”

Peter swipes of the glasses and dashes at his eyes, confirming the tears Tony had heard in his voice.

“Hey….” He takes Peter’s hand. Kisses it. “I’m sorry. I fucked up, kid. I’m already….” Tony shakes his head. “I didn’t want to _hurt you_ any more than I already am, by doing this with you to begin with.”

Peter swallows. He blinks and his cheeks start to sparkle.

“It’s not _just this_ for me, Pete. You’re more than this.”

*

They fall asleep with Peter’s head upon Tony’s chest, an arm and leg slung across his middle.

*

Tony wakes to wet, sucking sounds beneath the covers. Sensation slams into him and he moans.


	5. Lips

“ _Pete_. Why’d you go….”

Tony wrestles breath into his lungs. His thighs tense and his toes curl in the covers. He watches Peter’s hidden head bobble as he sucks, sucking it good, like someone _taught_ him this.

He drags off the blankets. They fall away and Peter is revealed, lips suctioned over Tony’s tip. Where it’s dark in Peter’s wicked little mouth, his tongue is sliding all around the outer ridge of Tony’s head.

The words Tony’s reaching for are too deep in his throat. His fists ball up the sheets at both his sides. Peter’s having his way—having the _nuts_ to have his way—while Tony is reduced to helpless muttering.

“Slower,” Tony pleads. “ _Pete_ —I’m—if you keep….”

Peter lifts his eyes, then his mouth. A _pop_ precedes the spit. He sucks it up good, though he blushes.

*

“I’ll go slow,” Peter says, and how _dare_ he have a voice so supple and wet while Tony’s dick rests on his face?

*

His slobbering is superb and Tony bucks up into it, lifting from the bed with embarrassing force. Twice, he jabs too far into Peter, making him cough and spit, making him cry.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, though he isn’t. He pets Peter, kisses his puffy lips.

*

When Tony cums, Peter keeps it locked inside his mouth. “You don’t have—” Tony begins, stopping when Peter spits on Tony’s belly. He looks as if inspecting some new food, wanting to see what he’s eating before he laps it back up.

*

They do things in silence, like boil eggs to devil and kiss between baking potatoes. Peter kisses with verve and Tony has to hold his face to keep from being knocked back on the floor.

“Pete,” Tony says between the forceful lip-locks. “Pete, you’re stronger than me. You have to be careful.”

*

And Tony can’t believe how _different_ it is between them, how Peter glides with a certain air of assuredness through the house. He’d been brave, waking Tony up like that, sucking him off like that, and things remain normal. In fact, Tony decides, it’s quite fucking simple.

*

“I freaked out,” Tony says when they’re in the lab together. “I’m still trying not to do it again.”

“I’m not... _the same_. From before it happened.”

“None of us are, Pete.”

“No, but”—he sets down the laser—“ _I’m_ not. I’m not. So you don’t have to freak out about me, about my age. I’m not the same and….” Peter exhales. He nods. “I know what I want.”

*

“Would it be better if I did you first?” Peter asks that night.

Tony’s heart skips. His skin crawls with heat.

*

“Congratulations, Peter. Tony Stark’s Sexual History Health Files Folder has been unlocked and is no longer affected by the Daddy Directory Protocol.”

*

Tony wakes to a tiny box plopping on his head. It rolls down his arm and lands between him and Peter.

He looks at it, then to Peter—sunken in sleep. The wrapping paper is simple and gold and red.

*

Tony’s eyes steam as he opens the gift. There’s a bronze spider inside with a copper heart button underneath. He presses it and light projects from its eyes, a stream of stills from Peter’s video logs.

*

Tony whips off the blanket. The Iron Spider and Peter’s original suit are fitted to mannequins, fully restored.

*

It’s snowing. A Christmas ham is baking, glazed with honey and sugar, scenting the house. Tony sways in a hammock made of webs with Peter tucked against his side, face hidden in Tony’s fleece.

*

“This is the _real_ stuff,” Tony says. Peter, scrunching his nose, isn’t convinced. Tony blends yolks and whites and cream and rum at the counter, laughing at Peter’s visible disgust.

*

“Was that careful enough?” Peter asks after the kiss. He’s pink, flushed with the same arousal crippling Tony. Tony cups his jaw in his hand.

“Softer,” Tony rasps.

Their lips press—feather-light—and linger. Peter tugs Tony’s lounge shorts and lifts on his toes between Tony’s legs. Tony shifts in his seat on the counter littered with eggnog ingredients, drawing Peter closer, tasting sweet.

“See?” Tony says, clasping their lips again in a drowsy kiss. “You don’t have to rush them.”

*

“I ate too much.”

Peter groans, a splat of a boy on the bed. Tony pats his cute, showered ass.

*

The following morning, Tony drags Peter into the curve of his body. Peter chirps a sleepy little noise as he settles into heat and the hardness of muscle.

*

“Tony….” Peter says on New Year’s Eve.

“Still getting used to that, kid.”

Peter slides up beside him. “Me, too.”

They look out to the trees and the blankets of untouched snow. The pond is frozen. The paths are covered up.

“Are you still afraid?”

Tony purses his lips. He takes a thumb through his hair and scratches his scalp.

“Of what, exactly?” Tony finally asks.

“Going back out there. Me going back out there, as Spider-Man. Or you as…?”

Peter searches his face but Tony doesn’t turn to him. He’s exhaling small, peppermint-scented clouds, but he doesn’t look at him. 

“Don’t you miss being Iron Man?”

“I do, kid.”

“Then…?”

“It’s not enough.”

“And what about me? You gave me back the suits, I thought….”

“Listen. Pete. One day, they’re gonna need you out there. And you’re gonna go back and it’s probably gonna kill me. But me? They don’t need Iron Man. Not anymore.”

“ _What_? No—no, you can’t—”

“I can. I have.”

“So you are scared,” Peter says. “And that’s _fine_ , I mean, look at me. I still _freak out_ when I’m alone, and I still can’t do a lot alone, and I need—”

“Pete. I’m afraid it’s a little different.”

“It’s _not_.”

Tony folds his arms. Peter shoves from the rail.

“Don’t act like you love me if you’re gonna be like this,” he says as he stomps away.

*

Tony hasn’t recovered from that word on Peter’s lips when he steps inside and slides the patio door.

“I’m not acting,” he says to the back of Peter’s head. 

Peter stops in his tracks. “Neither am I.”


	6. Iron Man

“This is nice.” Tony spreads his arms along the tub’s cold edge. “No gunshots. No fireworks.”

“Mmm.”

“My perfect, pretty boy is here, sharing this _delicious_ bath with me.”

“And delicious fruit,” Peter adds, plopping cotton candy grapes in his mouth. He folds his arms beside Tony. Tony watches his lashes touch his cheeks as he rests his head.

“Someone’s so sleepy.”

Peter laughs. He croons when Tony kisses his hair.

“You know….”

“Yeah?” Peter asks, half-present.

“This is the best time to be fucked, Pete. When the body is soft like this; warm. So easy to get into. It just...opens.”

Peter winces under the weight of pleasure those words deliver. He lifts his sleepy face to look at Tony. “Is that true?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And it won’t hurt?”

Tony swings down his arm farthest from Peter and reaches over his chest to stroke Peter’s back. “You’ll be so prepared. So relaxed….”

Peter searches Tony’s eyes. “So you’re not gonna...fuck me...through the bed, then?”

A laugh is rising in Tony violent enough to blow Peter back. He turns his head, spitting it out with a rumble.

*

“I don’t wanna sleep before midnight,” Peter says when he’s face-down on their bed, freckled with water.

Tony dries Peter’s feet. He pushes the towel up each of Peter’s calves. “I won’t let you miss it.”

*

“Mmm. What’s that?”

“Almond oil,” Tony says.

“Feels so good.”

“Spread your legs a bit more for me. That’s it….”

Tony kisses Peter’s thigh under the cuff of his ass. His hands, slick with oil, grip Peter’s waist. He works the backs of Peter’s greased legs until he comes down to his calves, kneading them one at a time with care.

“You’re so relaxed, Peter. So sweet.”

Peter hums. He curls his toes when Tony shifts to stand between his feet at the edge of the bed.

“You don’t even realize it, do you?” He squeezes Peter’s cheeks, pressing them together, then apart. “How you’re already giving yourself to me, just like this, while you do nothing but relax and be petted like the good, perfect boy you are?”

Peter’s stirring now, more awake than he’d been but still limp. Tony works his thumbs around and over Peter’s rim, stroking and teasing—helping the muscle go pliant.

*

“Such a state.” Tony kisses Peter’s smaller back. “ _Leaking_ everywhere, needing your virgin hole stretched around me.”

“It’s ready.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s— _yes_ ….”

Tony’s hands are busy, one around Peter’s dick, which sticks out from beneath him, and the other working two and three fingers into his hole. The lube creates a sticky, slippery music in the room, enhanced by Peter’s incoherent mewling.

“I’m gonna—” Peter grasps at the sheets.

 _“Let it out,”_ Tony drawls, drawing his fist back and forth over Peter.

“It’s about to come. It’s gonna—I—”

Tony climbs over Peter. He rocks and watches his gleaming cock slide between Peter’s cheeks.

 _“Do it,”_ Peter says, eyes shimmering. “Do it, _please_ do— _ah_ — _it’s_ —Mr.—”

Tony’s eyes roll as the tip of him falls into Peter. He staples his fists in the sheets around Peter’s waist. “That’s it,” he says, drawing his hips back and dick out, watching Peter seal shut the instant he leaves him. “That’s it, baby, just like that. Let me have it.” And he presses Peter again, watching as he’s sheathed in the succulent warmth.

*

“It’s—” Peter sucks in a breath. “Shit….”

“I hurt you?”

“N-no. I just, I need a sec, I….”

He feels it: the way Peter’s clamped on his dick, tight and new. He recalls the first time someone entered his own virgin hole, how it’d stung as it stretched, how full he was made to be.

*

“Do some more,” Peter says, and Tony clenches.

“Tell me when it’s too much.”

_“Mmn.”_

“Just say, baby, just say.”

Tony adds lube. A sigh spills from them both when he glides all the better into Peter.

“It’s good,” Peter says, his words coming out on a breath.

“Look at you, relaxing again under me.”

_“Yes.”_

“Just how you were before, _yes_ , so good, Peter. Fuck, I’m not even all the way _in you_ yet.”

Tony seizes Peter’s hips. It’s hard—holding back—when all he wants is to make Peter know how _good_ he feels; how _loved_ he is. Peter makes these beautiful, spiraling sentences about nothing and Tony watches his cock sink into his boy. He moans, the sound barely scratching its way up out of his throat. His hands smooth along Peter’s back.

“I can’t believe you’re under me,” Tony says. He blinks out the sting. “Looking so…. Letting me….”

Tony pulls back. He grounds himself with his palms between Peter’s shoulders and lowers, slowly—deliciously—down.

*

Peter is on his back and his legs circle Tony and they kiss. He grips Tony’s biceps. His eyes spill water down the sides of his face.

“Wait, wait,” Peter says. His hands tighten. “Tell me. Promise to—”

“Love you?”

“—never stop being Iron Man.”

They stare at each other. Peter’s eyes are large and beautifully bright. Tony opens his mouth, then—

“Happy New Year, Peter,” Karen’s voice projects from Peter’s glasses.

They yelp, jerking apart at the untimely fright.

*

Tony can’t stop kissing Peter as Peter sleeps on his chest. He cranes his neck, lifting an arm to lay his lips on, or his hair, or his mouth—when Peter’s position allows it.

In the morning, Tony wakes—after so little sleep—to Peter sitting atop him, eager and playful.

“Let’s try it again,” he says.

*

“Peter.” Tony groans the following day, drawing a throw pillow over his face as he’s sprawled on the couch. “It’s _sore_.”

“So we can’t?”

“Not today, baby, _please_.”

Peter settles for kisses and mouthfuls of chocolate.

*

Two weeks into January, Tony is feeling his age. Peter is insatiable and quick-healing. Thus, the first day Peter doesn’t open his mouth for sex, he brings Peter a sandwich rich with corned beef and sauerkraut, setting it on the table in their lab.

“You can’t forget to eat,” Tony says, though he’s too intrigued by the work to sound stern.

“I’m sorry. I got this idea and….”

Tony tunes out the words, though they mingle now with a mouthful of pickle and chips. He reaches toward the arc reactor scraps and picks up a bolt, turning it while glancing at Peter.

“Pete. What are you up to?”

Peter shrugs. He shoves his mouth full of sandwich.

“Pete,” Tony says, an edge of warning now in his voice.

“It’s just an idea. So you can live a long time. With me.”

*

That night, Tony kneels between Peter’s legs on the black, spongy floor of the gym. He reaches to Peter’s back, hooking his fingers in the band of his shorts.

“I’m sweaty….” Still, Peter lifts from his seat as Tony peels off his clothes. “And stinky.”

Tony buries his face in the pillow of hair. He kisses Peter’s abs, presses his teeth around Peter’s waist. His eyes lift to Peter, saying what he won’t: that he doesn’t _care_ about these things with him.

And when he sucks him, takes him with ease into his skillful throat, Peter grips and cracks the end of the bench.

*

On the first day of spring, Tony draws Peter into the lab. He kisses Peter’s hands; his lips.

“What is it?” Peter asks. His voice is soft. “You’ve been weird all morning.”

“I know. There’s this _thing_ and then I’ve gotta say it, and I need you to let me.”

Peter casts his gaze around the room. The Spider-Man suits are still tight around their mannequins. The Mark L1 stands behind them.

“That wasn’t there before,” Peter says with an air of wonder.

“About that.”

Peter approaches their armor.

“You want me to be Iron Man. And I want you to have your youth,” Tony says. “With me. _Here_.”

Peter shifts. He wets his lips and looks toward Tony.

“Five years. We stay here. In our home. In _our home_ , where it’s safe and there’s love and we _enjoy_ it. You learn everything you can and _then_ we go back. And we can save the world, however many times you want, but not until we have—”

“Our time.”

“—our time.”

Tony’s eyes glaze. He swallows hard, blinking, setting his jaw.

Peter blows out a breath. “Five years.”

“Five.”

He smiles. He looks at the suits. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Eremophobia and Querencia has changed me in ways I haven’t experienced from my writing in about four years. What was meant to be a simple one shot from a “what if...?” idea I had about Tony coping with Peter’s “death” quickly evolved into this unplanned, 11-chapter dreamland. It’s been fulfilling and emotional and exciting. I would’ve written Starker far sooner, as their chemistry on and off set is a pleasure to witness, but I’m glad I waited. I’m glad I allowed this to brew in my subconscious, later birthed as this for us all to enjoy.
> 
> Microcosm was set to end with Querencia, however, I’m too attached to the story and couldn’t imagine leaving so many unanswered questions for myself. I kept thinking, “But do they ever leave the house?”
> 
> “Will they ever return to the world as heroes?”
> 
> “Did Peter complete his invention?”
> 
> The idea of just leaving this _here_ made me sad. So, I decided a few days ago that I’ll continue Microcosm with Exhumed. It’ll be 29 chapters, written in TP/p, and more fleshed out than these first installments have been. You can expect to see that soon!
> 
> As a side note, I suffer from endometriosis and am due for a second surgery next Wednesday. It’s been a grueling process and a painful few years, and I’m grateful to have a top surgeon in the field taking care of me. With that said, I do plan to have the first chapter of Exhumed posted before then, but it’ll likely be a week or so before I launch the next. To make sure you don’t miss anything, _subscribe_!
> 
>  _Thank you so much_ for sharing this with me. Because what does all this even mean when we don’t share our excitement and feelings about our favorite fandoms/ships?
> 
> Also: y’all ready for Thrones tomorrow?


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